Prison Windows
by modestlobster
Summary: Someone shows up very unexpectedly and asks Josh for some help... 'The vilest deeds like poison-weeds bloom well in prison-air...' (Oscar Wilde)


Disclaimer: The characters are property of Aaron Sorkin. The portrayal of these characters that follows is mine.   
  
A familiar face appeared among the tiled pattern on the shower wall.   
"Aah! Joanie! Get out!" I yelled with much dignity.   
She disappeared laughing as my abundance of dignity began frantically pawing at the air near the towel rack which was lacking a towel.   
"It's not like you have anything I haven't seen before." She teased.   
I coughed. "Yah, but I'm your brother and I'm... old. This is like incest or something."   
"Incest?" She laughed again. "I wasn't even looking at anything. And it would only be incest if I was marrying you, Josh. Oh, and let me remind you that although I look like I could be your daughter, I'm still eight years older than you."   
"Hey, I do not look old enough to be your father." I retorted from behind my very opaque shower curtain. "I am still very, very young. And this is still wrong."   
"Were you not the one who would look in my room on occasion when we were younger when I would get dressed in the morning?"   
I faltered with an excuse for that one. "Yah, but I was just... I only wondered... I didn't know..."   
"You left your towel by the sink, Josh. I'll be out here when you're... you know, comfortably dressed."   
I could hear the smirk in her voice. It makes me wonder if I ever sound like that. Probably.   
I walked out to my kitchen - very clothed now - and clinked some bottles around in the fridge.   
"Can I get you anything?" I offered.   
She raised an eyebrow at me. "Josh, I'm... not alive, you know."   
"I know. But if you wanted to pretend or something."   
"No thanks."   
"Ok. Your loss."   
"But as long as we're pretending..." She continued, "That had better be pretend liquor you're pouring there."   
"Oh, come on, Joanie. It's been a long day." I sighed for emphasis and continued mixing myself a drink.   
"I know very well what alcohol does, and I know how it does it worse to you."   
"I wasn't going to drink that much."   
"Fine." She said, not impressed.   
"Fine." I replied.   
I walked out to the couch where she was sitting and sat at the opposite end and faced her.   
"You know what they call this, right here?"   
"Talking?"   
"Schizophrenia. Except that schizophrenics probably conceive people who are less translucent."   
"That's probably true."   
"Speaking of translucency," I continued, "I thought you were going to try to get that fixed."   
She sighed. "I talked to a bunch of people, Josh. Every one of them said the same thing - that the only reason you can see me at all is because you want to."   
"What do you mean?"   
She sighed again - which wasn't a good sign. "I'm here on Earth as a so-called 'ghost' until I can get my baby brother to let me go." She saw my blank look and explained further. "You know how prisons have the glass windows and the phones so that you can talk to the people who are in jail? That's kind of how I exist right now. I can see through the glass to the outside, but Josh, you have to pay my bail first for me to have my freedom. And you're going to have to pay it at the cost of not seeing me anymore."   
I stayed silent for a few moments and then asked, "Do you ever see Dad?"   
"You're changing the subject."   
"I know."   
"Yeah, I see him, but he's still waiting until I can be there with him entirely. And," She continued as I raised my glass to my mouth, "He also thinks you shouldn't drink."   
I put the glass down, untouched. "Yah, I know. He always told me that when he was still alive."   
She got up then and walked over to the window. "Why haven't you fixed the window all the way like you told your super you were going to?"   
"You know about that?" I thought she just went over to look at the view.   
"Of course I know, Josh."   
"Well, I only keep it like that as a reminder."   
"A scar isn't enough of a reminder?"   
"Do you know everything I do?" I needed to change the subject again.   
She shook her head. "No. I don't watch you all of the time, but I do try to make sure you don't do anything too stupid."   
"I guess you really don't watch me very closely."   
She smiled a little. "As much as you like to make others smile - even at your own expense - there are some people who like it just as much when they see you smile."   
"People like who?"   
"Me, Mom... Others..."   
"Others?" She wouldn't get away with leaving it at that.   
"If I told you, then I wouldn't be keeping their secrets."   
"What do you do? Follow around every girl who lays eyes on me to see what they think when I leave the room?"   
"I don't really have much to do, and you're the one who keeps me here."   
"You're going to keep reminding me of that."   
"Yes, I am."   
"Out of curiosity, why?"   
She looked me in the eyes. "Because I can see, touch, hear, smell, and taste freedom, but I can't have it."   
I couldn't keep my eyes locked with hers. I had to look at the floor. It was silent for a time before I asked, "So why don't you hate me?"   
"Because you're my brother. And I understand why you're doing this - why you're holding me back."   
"Ok. Why?"   
"Because I'm your sister. And you don't understand that it isn't your fault that I'm not still alive. So you want to apologize for that without saying goodbye."   
I looked back up at her. "I really miss talking to you."   
She came back to the couch and sat next to me. "That's normal."   
"Yah, but imagining you isn't."   
"Are you imagining me?"   
"Am I?"   
She touched my hand lightly. "You should get some sleep, little brother. You had a rough day, remember?"   
I shrugged. "It wasn't so bad."   
"I know," she smiled knowingly, "But fighting with your girlfriends always drains you."   
"What do you mean, 'girlfriends' - in the plural?"   
"I'm sorry. I didn't know that you had decided on one of them yet. So, who's it going to be?"   
"I should get some sleep."   
She smirked. "Okay."   
"The girls, they..."   
"I know."   
"You can leave."   
"I was planning on it."   
"No, I mean, you don't have to come back."   
"Was it something I said?" She asked with mock concern.   
"Yah. it was."   
"Thank you."   
"I love you, Joanie."   
"Yeah." She stood up. "I'll see you later then. In 60 years or so, I hope."   
"You know I won't live that long. I'm a Lyman."   
"I hope that, for your wife's sake, you do live that long."   
"Joanie."   
"Yeah?"   
"Get out."   
I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, she was gone - but that wasn't the only difference. It was suddenly much brighter and I could hear faint music. Shoot. It was my alarm.   
I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday, so I guess I hadn't actually taken a shower. I had fallen asleep on the couch and none of that had happened - it was just a dream. I sat up and stretched - nearly knocking a full glass of vodka to the floor. It hadn't been touched. After dumping it down the sink, I walked to my room to change, but stopped at the couch.   
The cushions showed evidence that someone had been sitting there, but it could have been the way I slept. I looked at the window - the window I was supposed to have fixed a very long time ago.   
I would fix it. Right then. I didn't care that it was five in the morning. I walked in my room to find a hammer but instead I sat down and looked at the pictures on my desk: my family when I was four years old, Dad and Joanie, one of Joanie by herself, a recent picture of Mom, the guys at work, and five small individual pictures of the women I know. I picked up the one of Joanie and looked at it for a while. It got cold suddenly.   
"Ok, ok. You can go now, really."   
I shivered and put the picture down. I found my hammer and worked on the window. I would start getting phone calls in about three and a half seconds. So I unplugged my phone.   
Give me a second to move on, then I'll put the hammer away and start getting ready so I can be late for work. 


End file.
